Dreamwalk
by Tanya Meridia
Summary: He beat himself against the walls of the cage, his howls ringing across the void of hell. Lucifer knows he must help fight against the Darkness, but the cage provides limited options.
1. Part One

Time was arbitrary in the cage. There was very little to measure the passing of time with. Once Death took Sam's soul, Adam was left to bear the full force of Michael's righteous rage, and it eventually proved too much. His soul and Michael's grace collided one too many times, until they collapsed into each other like a supernova. Lucifer was left alone, just like before; abandoned to wait for oblivion. Sometimes he would sense disturbances in Hell; he noticed the power struggle when Abaddon turned up, but that was nothing to the seizing of his tainted grace when the Darkness was released. He beat himself against the walls of the cage, his howls ringing across the void of hell. The Darkness wrapped his grace in razor coils and _pulled,_ tugging and twisting and corrupting, until he could no longer tell which thoughts were truly his. All he can remember now is a terrible burning jealousy of the humans, of the creatures his Father loved more than He would ever love Lucifer. The Darkness would solve that problem, but it would also destroy his Father's true perfect creation, destroy the whole beautiful cosmos. That was something Lucifer could not, _would not_ allow. He sent Hell shaking with the force of his rage, his desperation to escape. He hadn't felt that desperation in a very long time.

Desperation was a good motivator, but it wasn't enough to break a custom-built prison. Lucifer's grace folded in upon itself, curling inwards in search of a new answer. He couldn't help, couldn't fight, but maybe an appeal to the filthy humans and their selfish self-preservation would be enough. When he was topside, he could step into the dreams of any human he chose. This would require more finesse. The human who took on the mark would be the ideal candidate, but that human was more stupid than the rest. He cast around for something, anything, some spider-web thread of a link. Something in the very periphery of his consciousness vibrated, revealing a moment of weakness, of connection.

Sam.

His hope and his downfall, his escape and his return, his vessel and his betrayal. The human who had been strong enough to overcome the devil through sheer force of will, who had survived millennia of torture at the hands of archangels. The human who was supposed to be his counterpart, but turned out to be so much more. Lucifer tested the thread, projected his grace along it, gentle as he knew how, lest it snap. The thread trembled, and Lucifer steadied, but he wasn't causing the vibrations.

Sam was _praying._ Not to him, certainly, but it would do. Lucifer reached out, pushing into Sam's mind, and recoiled. Sam, his perfect vessel, was infected, _tainted,_ by the Darkness. Lucifer howled against the awful taste of it, struggling to return to the cage, but he felt Sam shudder and seize as he heard the hollow shriek of Lucifer's voice, saw Sam's memory of the cage. The chains and the fire and the branding. The connection wobbled dangerously, and Lucifer withdrew, holding it still and praying himself that it wouldn't break. It stretched and strained, but held, and Lucifer curled downwards. He would just have to try again, and pray that Sam was strong enough to overcome the Darkness too.

Lucifer waited for what was probably years. The single strand of silk connecting him to Sam's mind occupied his full attention, everything else pushed away. He kept a strand of his grace pressed against it, waiting for a vibration, for _something_ that would let him reach out. He didn't dare push forward now; no matter how much he wanted to, the chance of the thread breaking was too high.

It felt strange to have a purpose again. He had been alone and adrift for so long that he had almost grown accustomed to the meaningless haze. He was still waiting, but now he had something to wait for.

Lucifer had expected the vibration to come from prayer, from Sam pleading with his father (although not even Lucifer could work out what Sam thought that would achieve). It came from something very different. It was only the slightest twitch, a flash of Sam's subconscious, but Lucifer was desperate enough to make it work. He traced the thread through to Sam's mind, and found himself listening to Sam talking about wanting to settle down. Lucifer couldn't work out what had triggered the connection; Sam's mind was as far as possible from hunting, from God, from any of it. He was talking about a domestic life. About wanting to be loved.

Oh.

Sam must remember the cage. He must remember Lucifer's refusal to let Michael touch him, must remember the possessiveness Lucifer felt. Lucifer had all but forgotten that himself, but even this brush with Sam's consciousness was stirring memories of the cage, of the apocalypse. Of the human who had been strong enough and righteous enough to fight against an archangel and win. Technically, Lucifer couldn't feel, but he did; something akin to fondness crept through him. He couldn't talk to Sam, not while he was awake, but waiting didn't seem like such a chore.

Lucifer made his move when Sam had been asleep for a few hours. He stepped into his mind, his grace straining to maintain the link. Dreamwalking was effortless when he was on Earth, but now, it was so exhausting it burned. He couldn't take the form of his old vessel, but he couldn't take someone too familiar either. This was a warning, after all. He settled on John Winchester, finding some amusement in taking the form of one of Michael's vessels. He let Sam pick the song that was playing, plucking it from his subconscious.

 _A good word to say_

 _Guess it's 'cause he's just as wild_

 _in the younger days_

 _so blow you old blue northern_

 _blow my love to me_

It seemed fitting, somehow. He tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel.

"What are you listening to?" Sam asked, voice thick with yawning.

"Your mom used to love this song."

"Dad?" Sam asked. Lucifer turned to face him.

"You okay, pal?" Lucifer asked. He allowed his eyes to flick over Sam's body. "You look a little spooked." He looked down again, longer this time, noting the changes.

 _Someday soon, going with him someday soon._

Lucifer smiled as he turned off the tape.

"It's nice to be back behind the wheel," he said. "Looks like Dean's been taking good care of this old beast." He looked at Sam, and smiled. "Seems like he's taken good care of you, too."

"What is this? Another vision?"

"Are you having visions, son?" Lucifer asked. Maybe there had been more than the one he had triggered. Maybe someone other than him was trying to warn Sam.

"Don't call me that."

"What?" Lucifer asked. He'd always believed in playing his role, after all. "A father can't call his—"

"No, my father is dead."

Lucifer almost wanted to laugh. "When has death ever stopped a Winchester?"

"Look, I don't know what this is, but—"

"What you said about relationships, wanting something more," Lucifer said, interrupting. Sam couldn't be too resistant. He needed to hear something agreeable, "I never wanted this for you boys. This life. Not really."

"We turned out okay," Sam said, and Lucifer was surprised. He knew a thing or two about shitty fathers, and here was Sam, defending his.

"You did, didn't you?" Lucifer smiled. "But that was on you boys. You did that, not me."

"Well, you played your part." Sam said, and Lucifer had to control his reaction, fight back the smirk.

"I did my best, anyway, for what it was worth."

"This isn't real," Sam said. Lucifer smiled.

"I never could fool you, could I?" Lucifer asked, remembering their first meeting, in a very different dream; Sam had figured out who he was so quickly, and ever since, Sam had been one step ahead.

"I prayed when I was in that church," Sam said. "And I saw… something. And now here you are, whoever you are. Whatever you are. What is this?"

"Dream, vision, call it what you want. The message is the same. The Darkness is coming. And only you boys can stop it."

"Okay, fine. How?" Sam asked. "We need help, not visions of dead people."

"God helps those who help themselves." Strictly speaking, God didn't help anyone, but Lucifer couldn't just give the game away. He would give what help he could, and hope it would be enough. Hope that Sam could be too brave and too strong for his species one more time, and carry the whole stinking lot of them through and out the other side.

"Who are you?" Sam asked. Lucifer almost wanted to tell him. Almost wanted to let the line snap, just so Sam could know who was truly on his side in this. Instead, he retreated, let Sam wake.

Back in the cage, Lucifer kept a tendril of grace resting against the link to Sam's mind. It didn't seem so fragile anymore


	2. Part Two

"I don't suppose God's decided to share any wisdom on the matter?"

"I'll look into the lore." It wasn't what Dean had meant, but Sam had already tried to tell him about the visions, and Dean hadn't wanted to hear it. Sam walked towards the shelves; the argument was stifling.

 _The sky was a sulphuric fuzz, writhing and swirling with the essence of dead demons. Chains criss-crossed through the haze, piercing through souls in various states of ruinous decay. Echoes of screams rang through the distance, but no-one dared come close to the cage. It hung apart, a box built from twisted, tortured metal. Fingers clasped around two curled beams, reaching through the gaps._

Fear turned his bone marrow to ice. He'd never seen the cage from the outside, but he knew what he was seeing, just as he knew that those were Lucifer's hands. He shivered, remembering their touch.

That first vision had been of the cage, of the agony and torment. Up until now, he had assumed it was God answering his pleas for help, even if the answer hadn't made sense. Now he wasn't so sure. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd had visions of Lucifer. Sam's insides lurched, and he swallowed, fighting the urge throw up his own guts.

Cas wouldn't be able to save him this time. No-one would. Lucifer would creep into his head and Sam would fuck up and talk back and it would all be the same as before. Lucifer stalking through his mind, breaking anything he could find. Shaking up memories and wishes and nightmares until he didn't know what was real. Dragging icy fingers across walls and nerves. Anything to keep him in his place. Maybe Lucifer would do something different this time; stop him from speaking, stop him from listening. Cut off any form of sensory input. He'd done something like that in the cage once; numbed him as he sliced his skin to shreds, and then returned every sense in the same second, letting the pain hit all at once. Maybe he would block out everything but touch. Everything but pain.

Sam inhaled, gulping down air and digging his palms into the wood of the shelf in front of him. He pulled his nails against the grain, focussing on the textured scrape across the tips of his fingers. This was real, it was small and mundane and _real,_ and Sam stood, fingertips turning white as he pushed down even harder. He would fight this. He had no choice.

 _You're unclean. In the Biblical sense._

Billie's voice piped up from the back of his mind, yet another person (being?) telling him what he had always known to be true. He was dirty, tainted, _wrong._ As Lucifer had said, he was made for the devil. These visions could be that devil, but they could just as easily be God, finally telling him what everyone else already had.

 _This is where you belong._

Sam studied the spines of the books before him, guessing the title of the next one before he came to it. The thought was cold and parasitic; small and writhing and impossible to ignore. Dean didn't believe him, and even if he did, he was human, and he was fallible; he would reassure Sam that it wasn't true, but he could, and would, be wrong. After all, who could argue with God? Sam's lip twitched when he remembered their newfound knowledge that the Darkness was his sister, but somehow, he suspected that the Darkness wouldn't be desperate to reassure him. He would just have to fight it, like every other time before.

Lucifer stirred when the line twitched. The longer he spent monitoring it, the more in tune he became, the more he remembered his connection with Sam. Lucifer couldn't hear specific words, but he could sense Sam's feelings, and he knew Sam was confused. Sam was thinking about his visions again, and the line trembled like a plucked violin string. Lucifer had to act fast, give the bluntest answer possibly in the time he had. He crept into Sam's mind, sorting through his options as he moved. If he showed his face, the line would snap, and he would be left truly helpless.

Sam was still dwelling on the last conversation they'd had, and Lucifer could see the, as yet subconscious, knowledge of just who it was talking. He could get away with being obvious. There wasn't much choice; he had only moments before Sam became distracted. Lucifer pushed the image as quickly as he could; his own prison, and his own hands. The once green-tinged haze of hell turned black by the Darkness' foul corruption.

 _Let me out. I can help._

When the Darkness was free, she had snuck into his mind and become a hurricane, devastating everything in her path and amplifying any hint of anger or resentment. They had beaten her, forced her back, but it was too late; the damage was permanent, and so far only Sam had proved himself worthy of anything other than disgust. Worse, he could feel her sick chaos closing in again, and it was only a matter of time before she found him. There was no lock, no key, nothing he could do to defend himself. She would find him and corrupt him further, twisting him and damaging him until he could no longer be called an angel.

When there had been a human carrying the mark, Lucifer could forget that the Darkness was there; he had still felt her pressing against the edges of the universe, but he had been safe in the knowledge that she couldn't break through the lock. Now there was nothing, and he was even more defenceless than last time; he was the last archangel, and his father was long gone. Even if he wasn't trapped in the cage, he wouldn't be able to fight back the Darkness on his own. His only option was to trust a human and hope.

He was at least glad that the human in question was Sam. His human counterpart, his other half. The human who had taken him on and won. In that moment, Lucifer had been able to see why his father had been so enamoured with the humans; they had somehow managed to produce this beautiful thing, this creature who held the strength of archangels in his fragile human body. If he could trust anyone to bring down the Darkness, it was Sam. It was just a case of getting his point across.

He wound a tendril of grace around the line. The cage didn't seem so lonely anymore.


End file.
